


Tablecloths and Bear Meat

by cotton_prima



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Wedding, harmless bickering, i wrote this to prove to myself that i can write more than angst, truly dumb fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 18:33:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17064953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cotton_prima/pseuds/cotton_prima
Summary: Chrom asked Frederick and Robin to plan his and Olivia's wedding, putting full faith in their competence. It was a bad idea, actually.





	Tablecloths and Bear Meat

Often, when faced with a pile of financial reports from his ministers, Chrom would welcome distraction. It wasn’t that he desired to shirk his duties or considered them unimportant, although there was a long list of things he’d rather do than read minutes from the last debate over tariffs on imported marine products. The way he saw it, his work was only helped, not hindered, by breaking up the tedium of the job every now and then. However, today, with invoices from the Plegian war looming before him, Chrom wished to work as swiftly and resolutely as possible.

“Milord!”

It had been a nice wish.

Chrom set down his pen. He was rather certain he knew what this was going to be about, as there was little else that would spur Frederick to burst so unceremoniously into his office. But he would give his knight the benefit of the doubt.

“Yes, Frederick?”

“I’m afraid I cannot work with Robin any longer!”

Chrom sighed and leaned back in his chair. But Frederick, if he noticed his lord’s dismissive gestures at all, was undeterred. Indeed, Chrom thought, Frederick was not his usual, vigilant self. His posture, though not slouching, lacked something of its usual uprightness, and the sharpness of his eyes was dulled by fatigue and frustration. He’d hardly looked so frazzled during the war, and, come to think of it, it was rumored that Frederick had nearly been late to morning exercises the other day. How absurd, and during peacetime no less!

Had Frederick come at any other time, Chrom might have seen some humor in the situation, and would have tried to ease Frederick’s mood. But with the reminder that Plegian reparations hadn’t stretched as far as he’d hoped, Chrom was a bit frustrated himself.

“I take it there was no way to reach a compromise?” Chrom asked. By now he knew better than to inquire about the root of the disagreement.

“We may have been able to reach an agreement if she were capable of listening to reason,” Frederick scoffed. “I see.” He did not. “That’s too bad.” “It’s more than ‘too bad,’ milord. It’s an outrage! She’s been perfectly intolerable from the beginning!”

“Hmm.” Perhaps lowering taxes on trade along the border would produce more revenue in the long run. “Well Frederick, I do appreciate your efforts.”

“Not at all, milord.” Frederick gave a slight bow. “I am only representing your interests.”

“Yes, and you’re the best man for the job,” Chrom agreed. Then he shook his head in mock disappointment. “It’s a shame to hear that you’re stepping down.”

“Milord!” Frederick exclaimed, his expression morphing into one of abject horror. “I would never! I can hardly imagine doing such a thing!”

“Really?” Chrom paused a moment and assumed a look of innocent confusion. “Because if you can’t work together, then Robin will just have to move forward with the preparations alone. Of course, she doesn’t know me quite as well as you do, Frederick, but I’m sure she’ll manage somehow. She always does find a way to pull through in the end.”

Frederick, his face drained of color, seemed to have become a living statue, fated to stand forever with his mouth slightly agape in the middle of Chrom’s office. For a moment Chrom wondered if he’d taken things too far. He was about to feel sorry for him until he remembered how, just the other day, Frederick had asked (in front of Olivia!) if either of them had any preference regarding the color of the smallclothes he was having made for them. Chrom’s sympathy shriveled up as fast as an orange wedge under the Plegian sun. If he was not firm now, this madness would never end. Chrom held his ground, and eventually Frederick began to come back to himself.

“I—I see. Yes, well, it would be…unfair, I suppose, for Robin to shoulder the preparations herself,” he stammered. Chrom nodded in approval. “It seems I have no choice then. I must simply press on. I’m sure she will come around.” Frederick’s brow furrowed as if he’d remembered something particularly unpleasant. “In time,” he added darkly.

“Great!” Chrom said, even though the ominous tone Frederick had taken unnerved him. “I knew I could count on you.” It was as if his words had parted the clouds casting the shadow over Frederick’s mood. He instantly brightened, and although the circumstances were ridiculous, Chrom found it difficult not to reciprocate with a smile out of habit. Frederick excused himself, exiting the room much more quietly than he’d entered it. Taking a deep breath, Chrom returned to his work.

He enjoyed less than twenty minutes of productive silence before the next intrusion.

“Chrom!”

“Hello, Robin,” Chrom said flatly, this time refusing to even raise his head. Plegia’s reconstruction had progressed smoothly so far. _Too_ smoothly in the opinions of some. More than a few of his ministers were concerned by the speed in which the new government had been formed, and he had to admit, he shared their suspicions. Still, everyone would benefit from Ylisse and Plegia becoming trade partners again.

“You need to make Frederick stop,” Robin demanded, marching right up to his desk.

“Only if you can stop Ronald from sending me these incomprehensible drafts. Look at this—I don’t even think these are words.”

Robin leaned over to look at the document and wrinkled her nose.

“Oh, that’s awful. You should never put your seal to anything Ronald signs anyway. I don’t know how that man got his position.”

“He does come up with the worst ideas,” Chrom agreed. But Robin was engrossed in the rest of his work and had begun to pick through the reports herself.

“A trade route along the border, huh? Now that’s a nice thought. But are the roads in good enough condition to support that?”

“The hope is that Plegia will work to improve their infrastructure if we issue edicts to increase trade in the region, since it’s in their own best interest,” Chrom explained. He thought she’d be impressed, but as she read further, Robin’s expression grew more troubled.

“A hope, yes, but Chrom, the language here is far too exploitable. Merchants could take advantage of this without Plegia seeing any coin, and we don’t need any more animosity there.”

“So it’s bad?” Chrom asked, deflating a little. It had sounded promising to him.

“Well, the intentions are good, and it’s not unsalvageable. But I would recommend sending it back to your ministers.”

“I see. Thank you, Robin. You’ve been a great help, as always.”

“Then to thank me, you’ll talk to Frederick, right?” Robin asked, smiling like a smug cat as the prince’s face fell. “I know you were just trying to distract me with your paperwork, Chrom. It was a sound strategy, but you’re not getting rid of me that easily. Frederick’s been driving me out of my mind! You have to talk to him. Naga knows he won’t listen to me. I know he’s always been stubborn, but I swear, these past few days have been awful. I think it would be easier to argue with his horse. Now don’t laugh, I’m serious.”

“I’m not laughing,” Chrom said, although he had to admit that she had a point. Frederick had sworn vassalage to him, and still it could be difficult to get him to budge on certain issues. He had learned to accept that every path he walked would be cleared of pebbles and that every room he entered would be entirely dust-free. It was that maddening sincerity that made Frederick such a loyal friend and such a fearsome enemy. And, as it turned out, a terrible negotiator. Although, Chrom thought, meeting Robin’s determined gaze, Frederick was not the only stubborn one here.

“If he’s truly being as unreasonable as you say, I guess I could try something. Though if you’ve had no luck with him, I doubt I will. Actually, he was just in here not too long ago, asking me if I would say something to _you_. He seemed at his limit.”

“Oh?” Robin’s tone was unreadable. Chrom nodded, hoping that she would take the bait and leave him in peace. It was, after all, the truth. After an excruciating second, Robin sighed.

“I get it. You think I’m competitive enough to want to finish this on my own now that he’s asked you for help,” she stated plainly. “Did you really think that would work?”

“Did it?”

“Yes. If he was desperate enough to come to you, then that means I can still break him.” Her eyes gleamed dangerously, and for the second time that afternoon, Chrom wondered if he hadn’t made matters worse. “Thanks, Chrom!”

She hurried out of the room. Chrom had barely managed to breathe a sigh of relief before Robin popped her head back in again.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, her tone light. “How do you feel about lingerie?”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“You know, lingerie,” Robin explained, completely indifferent to the prince’s agitation. “It’s a Valmese thing, I think. It’s for—“

“I know what lingerie is,” Chrom said, regaining his presence of mind quickly enough to stop Robin before she could embarrass him further. At least she was asking him alone, unlike Frederick had. He took a breath. “Robin, I, um…appreciate your concern, but isn’t this something you should be asking Olivia?”

Robin regarded him in uncomprehending silence, then began to laugh.

“Oh, no Chrom! I’m sorry, you must have misunderstood! It’s not for Olivia! I mean, it’s _for_ Olivia, but…”

“Please leave.”

Robin slipped out the door and Chrom buried his face in his hands. Then he heard the door open once more.

“I swear, if you say another thing about lingerie…”

“Um, is this a bad time?”

Although he was often warmed by the sound of her voice, hearing Olivia now made Chrom’s blood freeze. He looked up in a panic to see her hovering hesitantly in the doorway.

“I—gods, I’m sorry, Olivia! I thought…I was sure you were Robin!”

At once Olivia’s face softened into understanding.

“She’s been consulting you too, huh?” she said, closing the door behind her.

“Her and Frederick both,” Chrom said, motioning for Olivia to take a seat by his desk before pushing his work aside. “I know they’re arguing with each other, but at times they seem so united in their disagreements that it feels like they’re double-teaming me.”

“It is getting a little out of hand,” Olivia agreed. “I don’t think I’ve had a single undisturbed dance practice this week! And no matter how hard I try to sneak around the castle unnoticed, they always track me down. Frederick’s great to hide behind, but hiding _from_ him is just impossible. And of course, Robin’s no better with that roster of hers. It’s like she knows exactly where I’ll be even before I do. It would actually be impressive if it weren’t so exhausting.”

“I know the feeling. In another life, those two would have made wonderful spies or assassins.”

Olivia raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a small chuckle.

“I can see it! Well, more for Robin than Frederick.”

“True, he doesn’t the stealthiest of builds. And even if he were an assassin, I can’t see him parting from that armor of his. Imagine him pursuing a target in that getup. They’d be able to hear him coming from miles away.”

“But he’d still finish his mission somehow!” Olivia was laughing wholeheartedly now, and Chrom felt himself smile. Not too long ago, he’d struggled to get her to exchange mere words with him. Now she laughed easily with him. That didn’t mean he cherished the sound any less.

“Ah, but they’re not seriously fighting, are they?” Olivia asked, worried in earnest. “I’d feel awful if they had a falling out over us.”

“Over this?” Chrom shook his head. “Trust me, they’ll be fine. They’ve had their fair share of disagreements, but they haven’t really fought since, well, since they got together.”

“It’s just that I’ve never seen them quite this antagonistic toward each other,” Olivia said, still concerned despite Chrom’s assurances.

“That’s right, by the time you joined us, they’d already resolved all that,” Chrom mused to himself.

“I’m sorry, but resolved what exactly?”

“Well, they didn’t like each other very much when they met, although a lot of that dislike was one-sided,” Chrom explained. “Frederick was uncomfortable with Robin getting close to Lissa and I, and she responded poorly to that. They got over it, obviously. But it was a little touch-and-go.”

“I see,” Olivia said. Then, quietly, “Robin never mentioned that to me.”

“She probably didn’t want you to worry over something they already worked out. And for that matter, neither do I.” Chrom reached his hand out to her across the table and she took it as if by second nature. “They volunteered to do this, and their teamwork’s never failed before, right?”

“I suppose.” Olivia smiled cautiously and Chrom gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“See? They always manage in the end. And if they can manage a war, they can manage a wedding.”

Hopefully, Chrom thought to himself, with minimal casualties.

 

At some point in the history of human intimacy, someone had thought to coin the phrase “love is war.” And while it was quite a clever analogy on its face, clearly its author had never planned a wedding, otherwise they would have come up with a slightly different term.

In Robin’s limited experience, wedding planning wasn’t quite analogous to battle, but it was definitely attrition. Anyone walking into Robin’s room would reasonably think that the tactician was drafting plans for a coming conflict, given the sheer amount of paper that spilled from her drawing table and the grim manner in which she hovered over her work. That reasonable person wouldn’t be completely wrong, but her enemy wasn’t one she’d meet on the battlefield. He was standing across the table from her, hands clasped behind his back. His expression was insufferable.

“Let me get this straight,” Robin said, her fingers pressed against her temple. “You want to use peach trim on the tablecloths, knowing that Olivia’s dress will have gold lining, is that right?”

Frederick’s smile was pointed steel.

“Peach better suits milord’s completion. And we _did_ agree that I would be in charge of selecting tablecloths, napkins, and silverware, given my superior taste regarding those items. Or do you not remember negotiating that? I have it in writing, if your memory needs refreshing.”

“And I remember expecting you to do an adequate job, not to sabotage the entire color scheme!”

“Well, perhaps if _someone_ hadn’t sabotaged the menu first, I would have felt less inclined to take liberties with the tablecloths! We can’t very well serve bear at a royal wedding!”

“Chrom and Olivia _like_ bear, Frederick!”

“We’ve already hired a performer with a dancing bear. We can’t very well have a bear for entertainment _and_ dinner!”

“The dancing bear won’t be in the dining hall, obviously.”

“That still doesn’t make bear wedding fare, and you know it. Next you’ll be suggesting that we substitute the cake with pie.”

Robin threw her hands up, inadvertently displacing a few papers from the table.

“Look, I could understand if it were yellow, but peach? Really!?”

“If you were to take bear off the banquet menu, maybe I’d be pressed to reconsider, but I fail to see how my decision is the baseless one here.”

“Oh, would you come off the bear already? We’ve been over it a hundred times.”

“And I will take it up with you a hundred more times until you realize the fault in your catering choices.”

“Confident words from the man who wanted to use blue ink on the invitations.”

“At least I was big enough to admit that I was wrong. I can think of someone who could learn from that.”

Robin shot Frederick a glare, which he returned with a stare so stern that she couldn’t help but fold into laughter. Disarmed by her sudden change in humor, warmth rose to Frederick’s face. Still, he couldn’t help but crack a slight smile as well.

“Gods, Frederick!” Robin exclaimed, her voice still carrying the echo of laughter. “That face is too terrifying to make over tablecloths and bear meat!”

Frederick cleared his throat.

“Perhaps I…did get a bit carried away there.”

“You and me both, I suppose. Gods, I didn’t expect this job to be so difficult.”

“In truth, neither did I.”

They shared a long look, shy to be sharing common ground after so much fuss, and both feeling rather silly.

“You know, I think you’re right about the menu,” Robin finally admitted. “Bear is an acquired taste, and it would be unorthodox to serve it to everyone. But what if we just served it to Chrom and Olivia?”

Frederick nodded, satisfied by her concession.

“In that case, you may have the gold-trimmed tablecloths. I was not actually attached to peach. I only wanted to talk you down from the bear.”

“Frederick, you sly dog,” Robin said, without malice.

“I learned from the best, my dear,” Frederick replied. “Do we have a deal?”

“We do indeed.”

“Then moving onto the next item, you’ve seen my sketches for the ice sculpture.”

“Yes.”

“And what do you think?”

Robin shot Frederick a smile like a sunbeam.

“Absolutely not!”

**Author's Note:**

> After this, Maribelle intervenes and the wedding is saved.


End file.
